


hangman 2.0

by angry-hash-browns (naehilisms), naehilisms



Series: so like,,, naruto [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Founder’s Era, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Unhappy Ending, You know this is pretty angst, because. you know. shitty parenting., canon depressing m’dudes, okay I got all these tags but this is just a lyrical retelling of canon, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naehilisms/pseuds/angry-hash-browns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/naehilisms/pseuds/naehilisms
Summary: Tobirama had always thought of himself as the logical sibling. No matter his brother’s myriad of positive traits and talents, he knew he had one thing going for himself- he was analytical. He was sharp. He was the buffer to Hashirama’s circumstantial overenthusiasm, and together, they’d kept the village from crashing down- and that was how it always was, long before any notion of a village even existed.Tobirama delves into his memories.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama, Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: so like,,, naruto [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1373263
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hangman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905398) by [angry-hash-browns (naehilisms)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naehilisms/pseuds/angry-hash-browns). 



> Yeah... apparently ao3 ate the notes for this. I was inspired to write for naruto again by one person. (You know who you are :D) I'm not going to continue toy soldiers for now, because my body is NOT READY- a while ago, though, I wrote a one-shot called hangman. I really like the concept of that fic, but its execution was sort of bad, so I'm going to rewrite it. This is a slow-going process, cause I'm a busy bee and hsadlfsdfsjdkl so I'm splitting this into chapters so I don't fking die. If you're curious about hangman, go check it out. Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, naruto fandom. I have returned, inspired by the sole efforts of one very good person. (You know who you are. You made my day. You made my week. You made my 2020.) While I do not think I am physically, mentally, or emotionally ready for the harrowing task of continuing toy soldiers, I will try to shimmy myself back in by trying my hand at rewriting hangman, a one-shot I made a while ago. While I like its idea, its execution was... sort of bad. Unfortunately, his is not a one-shot, because I am a busy bee with eXaMs coming up and if I tried to write that many words in one take I’d die. I did, however, write 1k in one day, which is a feat I actually rarely accomplish. The next time I post will probably be in February. It could be this, or toy soldiers, or more wangxian, or even something for sv or tgcf. I haven’t the slightest idea. I am but a little boat, floating wherever the waves take me in the sea of too many writing ideas  
> P.s. if you are too impatient to wait for the better version, shimmy on down to the fic bearing the same name in my naruto collection

Tobirama had always thought of himself as the logical sibling. No matter his brother’s myriad of positive traits and talents, he knew he had one thing going for himself- he was analytical. He was sharp. He was the buffer to Hashirama’s circumstantial overenthusiasm, and together, they’d kept the village from crashing down- and that was how it always was, long before any notion of a village even existed. If Hashirama was the smiling, outgoing sibling, he was the cold, brooding one. 

How old had he been when Kawarama died? He couldn’t really remember. It seemed muddled in his memory, too blurred by the grief he’d felt to really stay in one place or make any sense. Of course, he’d hidden that grief better than Hashirama did. The day, however, would forever reside in his mind, an eternally opening wound.

_ He was at camp with a bad cold, polishing the blade of one of his swords. Night had fallen, and the flicker of a lamp was all the light he had to go by as he ran a cloth down the sheen of his weapon. He was disturbed in his work by sharp shouting from outside, the strained voice of one of the guards heralding the return of the previously departed attack squad. Tobirama got to his feet and walked out of the tent. Squinting his eyes, he saw, through the murky darkness, the silhouettes of the shinobi that had returned from battle. They were bloody and ragged, walking with limps and clutching injured limbs and shattered weapons.  _

_ As they grew closer, he could see, leading the pack, the outlines of his father and Hashirama. Tobirama fidgeted where he stood, a trepidation growing in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Hashirama- what was in his arms? What was he holding? Quickly, Tobirama stumbled towards them, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. Hashirama was- he’d been crying. Tear tracks lined his cheeks, and his mouth was set in an anguished frown, lips pressing together bitterly as he glared at the ground. Father’s gnarled hand clutched painfully tight around his shoulder.  _

_ Then, he saw it. Cradled in Hashirama’s arms. Kawarama, as pale as death, arms falling limp at his sides. The faint light from camp cast bleak shadows on his white face, shining on the crimson streaks of blood that smeared his face like strokes of ruby paint. The sight stole the breath from his lungs, his mouth slipping silently open as his sword slid out of his trembling fingertips and fell with a quiet  _ clang  _ to the ground.  _

_ At the sight of him, Hashirama rushed forward, still desperately clutching Kawarama’s body, and his facade finally shattered, the glassy look replaced by a crumpling face. Tears slid miserably down his cheeks. He heaved breaths in and out, chest shaking as Tobirama stood in bleak shock. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. After Hashirama’s voice stopped breaking, he barely managed to eke out a few choked words. “Tobirama- he’s gone. Kawarama- is- _ ”  _ he heaved out a fresh sob, shuddering uncontrollably, and he dropped his head down so his bangs covered his face, freely crying onto the body in his arms.  _

_ Tobirama stepped tentatively forward. “Anija,” he whispered, feeling the daggers of clansmen’s eyes on him as he grabbed his sleeve and started wiping at his brother’s tears, “don’t- don’t cry.”  _ I know you want to,  _ he yearned to say,  _ I know  _ I  _ want to. I know Kawarama didn’t deserve this. I know that he was still alive a few days ago, that he’s still wearing that armor we teased him about. I know you want to scream at the stars and grieve until you’re nothing but dust. But don’t cry. Don’t cry.  _ He closed his eyes momentarily and pushed back the pricks of tears.  _

_ Behind Hashirama, their father pursed his lips in approval. Shinobi don’t cry.  _

_ With aching tenderness, Hashirama knelt and set the mangled body on the ground, eyes staring at nothing as he cried in silence. “He’s gone,” he rasped, tone mingled with a grief-stricken finality.  _

_ Tobirama couldn’t say anything.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The dirt beside the forest was still turned and fresh from the burial. Hearts still raw from a funeral, Tobirama and Itama stood helplessly as they watched their disconsolate, suffering brother confront their father.  _

_ “Why do we have to fight?” Hashirama demanded, voice stretched with an incandescent desperation, “He was so young! All we do is fight! Fight, fight-” he choked, “-you know nothing else but war! If we would stop fighting children wouldn’t  _ need  _ to die-” _

_ As fast as lightning, their father struck out, striking Hashirama hard enough that he was sent sprawling to the ground. His face was twisted in righteous anger, the kind of fear only fathers could instill twisting wickedly in Tobirama’s chest as he stepped back instinctually from shock. “KAWARAMA DIED A FULL-FLEDGED SHINOBI- UNLIKE YOU, CHILD!” He roared.  _

_ Hashirama lay frozen on the ground.  _

_ “If you’d stop daydreaming about peace all day, maybe you’d  _ finally  _ be of use to our clan,” he finished, words piercing as knives. His lips a thin line, the man turned around with a huff and started stomping away.  _

_ Itama crouched close to Hashirama, tear tracks still lining his cheeks. “Nii-san, are you okay?” He asked quietly. _

_ “You know what happens when we defy Father,” Tobirama muttered delicately.  _

_ Hashirama looked gently at them both, and something changed in his expression. It filled with a pained determination, and before either of them could stop him, he rose back up with fresh defiance and hollered brokenly, “Senju, clan of love?  _ As if!”  _ His voice cracked painfully. “Full-fledged shinobi my  _ ass!  _ All this is is adults sending children to their deaths! How are we any different from the Uchiha?” _

_ Butsuma whipped around, eyes flaring with rage. “That’s how we honor our opponents. Even an  _ infant  _ with a weapon is deemed an enemy, and to raise a full-fledged shinobi is a parent’s  _ love!” 

_ “So, to become full-fledged, you have to  _ die?  _ This is just a game of kill or be killed! Our grudges number more than we can count- we can’t even divulge our family names!” Hashirama scowled. “There’s something wrong with a world like this!”  _

_ Their father’s face twisted once again, and he swung around, fist raised as he shouted, “KIDS LIKE YOU ARE CALLED  _ BRATS!” 

_ Tobirama swiped an arm in his path, heart stuttering in his throat as he muttered, “Father. Please forgive Hashirama. He’s not in his right mind right now.” _

_ Butsuma raised an eyebrow, and Tobirama held his breath, trying not to think about broken noses or black eyes. Seconds passed. Tobirama bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, their father let out an angry huff and glowered, pursing his lips. “Fine,” he spat out, “Cool your head, Hashirama.” _

_ Tobirama stood there frozen until he disappeared into camp before finally letting out a deep breath of air and turning to look at his brothers.  _

_ Itama shook. Hashirama rubbed his reddening cheek, staring silent at the ground. The quiet was deafening.  _

_ Itama died soon after.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments fuel my soul and encourage me to write *･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned ～

_ “Tobirama.” _

_ He rushed forward, kneeling respectfully. His joints slammed on the wooden floor. “Yes, father.” _

_ The man hummed. His eyes narrowed, lips pursing perceptively before he opened them and said, “As you might have noticed, your brother has been disappearing into the forest more and more frequently. I want you to find out what he’s doing.” _

_ Yes, Tobirama had noticed. Considering what a state Hashirama was in, he felt whatever his brother was doing, he deserved some respite. _

_ But orders were orders. _

_ “Yes, father.” _

_ His father huffed, scowling slightly. “Good,” he bit out. “I’ve been concerned about him,” he said, as if he really cared about Hashirama, “he needs to get rid of this rebellious streak.” _

_ Tobirama grit his teeth. “Of course.” _

_ Orders were orders. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Tobirama swallowed, watching Hashirama return from his excursion. Guilt bit, swirled in the back of his throat. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he stepped in front of his brother. “Anija,” he said flatly, “come with me.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Hashirama stumbled into the building behind Tobirama and dropped into a kneel before their father. His features were frozen in anticipation, as if he already knew what he was there for. His hands shook. _

_ The man rose at their arrival, arms lifting to cross firmly across his chest. Eyes sharp and lips tight, he started darkly, “Hashirama, this boy you’ve been meeting up with…” _

_ Immediately, Hashirama burst out, “How did you-” _

_ “Father ordered me to tail you,” Tobirama interrupted curtly, “I have keener sensory abilities than you.” _

_ Hashirama froze, eyes darting every which way, before slowly lowering himself back into a kneel from where he’d moved. _

_ “You’ve been going out quite often recently, so I knew something was up,” Butsuma continued, eyes growing darker. “I checked up on that boy. He belongs to the  _ Uchiha clan.”

_ Hashirama winced, a bead of sweat running down his brow. _

_ “He has killed many adults from our clan. It seems he was born with inherent shinobi talent,” He mused, raising an eyebrow coldly. “You don’t seem surprised. Don’t tell me you already knew?” _

_ Hashirama squeezed his eyes shut. “No…” He murmured, “I don’t think he knew my clan name either…” _

_ “You do know what this means, right?” Butsuma asked gruffly, “The Uchiha and the Senju are  _ bitter  _ enemies. I haven’t told anyone, but if word gets out, you’ll be marked as a traitor and an enemy spy.” _

_ Every word was like a knife stabbing in Hashirama’s back. His brother bit his lip, face growing paler. _

_ Their father paused, as if savoring the moment.  _

_ “So I have a mission for you.” _

_ Hashirama’s eye twitched, tension rising to the surface. _

_ “When you meet him again, follow that boy and gain intel on the Uchiha clan. And if he finds you…” _

_ Hashirama’s throat rose with a gulp. They both knew what their father was about to say. _

_ Voice low, Butsuma finished, “...you  _ kill him.”

_ Hashirama started at the floor right below his father’s knees. His fists clenched and trembled, knuckles cracking one by one, and his teeth pressed together with an audible  _ click.  _ He took a deep breath. “W- wait,” He said, a not-quite-hopeful grimace on his face, “Are you sure he’s an Uchiha?” _

_ Their father gave him a stern look. “Of course. And if he’s found out you’re a Senju, there’s no doubt he’ll pretend to let his guard down to gain intel on  _ us. Do not trust him.”

_ “No,” Hashirama stuttered miserably, bringing a bitter concoction of pity and trepidation rising up the back of Tobirama’s throat, “He’s not like that…”  _

_ Butsuma’s face changed in an instant. “You’d trust the clan that killed you brother?” He yelled, voice raising loud enough that Tobirama lowered his head a little. “You have no idea what he’s thinking in his gut!” Hashirama looked desperately at him, but he plowed on. “If he tricks you, you’ll be putting our entire clan at risk!” _

_ “No, that’s not-” _

_ “Just in case, Tobirama and I will come along. Understood?” Butsuma interrupted. _

_ Tobirama bowed his head. He couldn’t look at Hashirama. _

“Answer me!” 

_ Hashirama hesitated, his breathing harrowed and stringy as he paused, as he tread water. “Y… yes, father,”  _

_ The words out of his mouth, he rose to his feet without another word and left, his footfalls a bit more erratic than usual.  _

_ His father waited until the pattering sound of Hashirama’s steps faded away before speaking. “Oh, that boy,” he muttered, “always being some liability. First, Kawarama. Now, he’s prancing around with an Uchiha, of all things!” He shook his head. “Thank goodness for you, Tobirama.” _

_ Tobirama said nothing. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ He and his father laid huddled amongst the trees, their chakra suppressed to the bare minimum. Through the brush, Tobirama could see Hashirama standing on the rocky bank of the river, staring emotionlessly at the boy across the flowing waters. Madara, he was called, and he looked like any other person. Young, tired. Spiky black hair and tattered clothes. He was about Hashirama’s age, wasn't he? _

_ But he wasn’t any other boy. At least, that was what father had said. He was a monster. An Uchiha monster. Those hands, they’d grasped the handle of a kunai, had bathed themselves in blood. Those legs, they’d picked over errant corpses, crushed skulls. _

_ And those eyes- they could swirl with a deadly crimson. _

_ The atmosphere, despite the two boy’s blank faces, was strangely somber, as if the whispering forest around them could also sense his brother’s turmoil.  _

_ “I know it’s right off the bat,” Madara said, “but how about we skip stones instead of exchanging greetings?” _

_ Hashirama reached into the folds of his clothes and pulled out a round, flat stone- perfect for skipping. “Yeah.” _

_ In perfect synchronization, they held their arms back and flung the stones across the river, a fluid, practiced motion. They made two minute splashes before landing in the other’s open palms.  _

_ There was an infinitesimal pause, where both people seemed to shift slightly- then, Madara looked up and nonchalantly said, hand lifted in a wave, “Hashirama, sorry, but I can’t stay today. I just remembered I have something I need to do.” _

_ “O- oh yeah?” Hashirama’s voice cracked slightly, obviously struggling to retain his composure, “Then I’ll be heading home, too!”  _

_ Madara gave him a nod. Then, without warning, the two immediately darted in opposite directions. Hashirama came streaking back towards them, face determined and unyielding. _

_ “That speed!” Butsuma snapped angrily, “He’s trying to make a run for it! Damn it- Hashirama warned him! Tobirama, go!” _

_ He nodded. “Yes, father!”  _

_ Together, they leapt out of their hiding spot and drew their weapons, landing with muted splashes on the gentle river. At the same time, two figures clothed in dark grays landed on the water and faced them. _

_ On the shore and halfway into the forest, Madara stopped in his flight and spun around.  _

_ The taller Uchiha, the father, presumably, smirked. “It seems we had the same idea,  _ Butsuma Senju.”

_ The boy next to him added coolly, “...and Tobirama, I presume.” _

_ “Indeed, Tajima Uchiha,” Tobirama’s father said with a streak of morbid confidence. _

_ “And Izuna. Am I right?” Tobirama leveled his sword.  _

_ It felt sluggish. Heavy. _

_ Time slowed as they stood there, poised like puppets behind a silken curtain. Hands clutched weapons and eyes glared like fire, but no one would make the first move. A single misstep, and everything could come crashing down, a glass tower struck by a single pebble.  _

_ A leaf floated down from the heavens, pirouetting in swirling spirals. Six eyes watched it fall, watched it waver, quiver, before finally, irrevocably, it gently kissed the water.  _

  
  


_ With a snap, Tobirama rushed forward, his sword poised to strike.  _

_ Hashirama and Madara screamed, a cracked plea of “Stop!” But he could never stop. To stop wasn’t in his nature. _

_ Tobirama and Izuna’s swords clashed with a tinny  _ clang,  _ and, beside them, their father’s did the same. Tobirama glared into Izuna’s eyes, scowling as every bit of pressure he pushed into his opponent’s sword was countered. Their faces were mere inches apart, and Tobirama could see every line of anger, feel the hate radiating from that broken gaze.  _

_ He sensed the two older men fall back, but he didn’t move. There was only one thing he could register, and it was the two weapons biting into each other, the scrape of metal. _

  
  


_ When they finally broke apart, he stumbled, only sensing the sword soaring towards his face until it was too late for him to move, for him to do anything more than gape- he was dead, a sitting duck on the water- he- _

  
  
  


_ A stone struck the sword and knocked it aside, firm and sure.  _

_ In the few milliseconds Tobirama saw it, he read the hastily carved characters engraved on its surface-  _

Run.

_ The stones and the weapons sank, heavy and gone, to the bottom of the river. Tobirama stood there in shock, mouth gaping open as he stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. Suddenly, Hashirama landed in front of him, arms splayed protectively, as did Madara in front of Izuna.  _

_ “I‘ll never forgive anyone who tries to hurt my brother,” Madara hollered, “no matter who they are!” _

_ Hashirama reciprocated. “Same here!” _

_ Tobirama felt like he was experiencing something he shouldn’t have.  _

_ The two stared at each other, and the wind lashed wildly through their hair. It was silent, save for the rippling of the water and the rustling of the leaves. The clouds meandered aimlessly through the sky. _

_ Finally, Madara spoke up. His eyes softened, mouth rounded with a sad expectancy. _

_ “Hey, Hashirama,” he muttered quietly. _

_ “Yes?” Hashirama said, voice hinging on desperation. _

_ “I don’t think…” Madara whispered, words dragging long and painful… “we can reach… that pipe dream of ours.” _

_ And in that moment, the wind seemed to have captured something in its gales or the river its waves, because something changed. Something was lost forever.  _

_ “Madara…” Hashirama pled, “what are you saying?” _

_ The boy gave a bitter smile. “It may have been brief, but it was fun, Hashirama.” _

_ His brother twitched, so minute Tobirama was sure no one else had noticed. _

_ “Three against three…” the Uchiha- Tajima- noted, “can we take them, Madara?” _

_ “No,” Madara looked directly at Hashirama. “Hashirama is stronger than me. If we fight, we’ll lose.” _

_ Izuna loosened his stance. “There’s a person stronger than you, nii-san?” _

_ Tajima frowned. “Impressive. Very well. Let’s retreat,” He and Izuna turned around. Madara began to follow them.  _

_ “See you,” He said, with a painful finality. _

_ “Madara!” Hashirama yelled desperately, “You haven’t really given up, have you? You’ve gotten to the same point as I-” _

  
  


_ He was interrupted. _

_ “Ha. You… are Senju, and I am Uchiha. I… truly wish it wasn’t so, but my brothers have been killed by the Senju, and yours by the Uchiha… so there’s no need to show our guts to each other,” He paused, mincing out a smile. “Our next meeting will probably be on the battlefield, Senju Hashirama.” _

_ He turned around, and then Tobirama could see- spinning lazily with a single tomoe drowning in red- his eyes, sending a trickling chill down his spine. “After all,” Madara said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m Uchiha Madara.” _

_ Without another word, he turned back around, head directed at the ground as he walked away. Tobirama dropped his stance in shock. _

_ “Otou-Sama! Izuna said excitedly, “Look at his eyes!” _

_ Tajima grunted, a satisfied smile on his face. “We didn’t gain intel from this, but turns out we obtained something valuable, after all.” _

_ Butsuma drew back. “He awakened his Sharingan… just now?” _

_ But one answered. _

_ Without another word, the three turned around and walked away. Yet Tobirama, Hashirama, and their father stayed for long after, standing still on the water. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you liked :D


	3. Chapter 3

_ Tobirama caught sight of his brother at last, finally out of his unit and walking mutely along one of the more remote footpaths. “Hashirama!” He yelled hurriedly, stumbling to run up to him, “I-” _

_ “I don’t want to talk about it.” _

_ “What? But-” _

_ “I said,” he repeated, voice shaking slightly, “I  _ don’t want to talk about it. Please,  _ just leave me alone.” With that, he quickened his pace, leaving Tobirama with his arms outstretched and his guts churning with an immense sense of guilt.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The first time Hashirama and Madara clashed on the battlefield, Tobirama was there to see it. Donning his worn set of armor, his brother had run, distraught, into the conflict- eyes listless, legs scrambling and tripping. And there was Madara, drawing a sword out of a broken body.  _ “Madara!”  _ Hashirama had screamed, and he’d run up, defenseless, helpless, weapon sheathed, face crumpled in a cry. Madara responded by cruelly taking his sword and swinging it bodily at him. Hashirama barely blocked in time. Perhaps he didn’t truly believe his dear friend would try to harm him. Struggling under the weight of Madara’s weapon before pushing it back with his own, Hashirama shouted incoherent pleads that landed on deaf ears. Forced to exchange blows, he slipped- nearly sliced Madara’s throat open. Instead, his sword left a thin, red line, and he finally seemed to shatter- Tobirama thought he saw a single, pearly tear slide down his ashen cheek, but when he blinked, it was gone.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Stand up!” Butsuma barked. Tobirama lay crouched beside the doorway, eyes wide as he listened to Hashirama’s ragged breathing. “How are you supposed to protect your brother when you can’t even handle this?” _

_ “I-” Hashirama eked out, “I can-” _

_ “Then prove it!  _ SHOW ME  _ you can handle it!” A smack rang through the air, accompanied with the quiet groan of his brother.  _

_ He felt sick. How had a training spar elevated to this? He had half a mind to barge in with some mundane excuse- just so he could stop what was going on.  _

_ Seconds passed, the air completely still. Tobirama’s brow crumpled as he strained, waited with bated breath, struggled to grasp at any clue of what was happening inside that wretched room. _

_ Suddenly, he heard, against all odds, their father cry out in surprise. _

_ Throwing care to the wind, he stormed into the room to find him sprawled ungainly on the floor, his ankles bound by small, sturdy roots that sprouted from cracks in the wooden floor. Knelt in front of him was Hashirama, looking just as surprised as he was. His hands were held unsteadily in front of him, and Tobirama could feel the chakra emanating from them, feel the same chakra flowing in the roots around his father’s feet. _

_ Hashirama turned to look at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “T-Tobirama,” he stuttered.  _

_ In that moment, Tobirama saw the fear gleaming in his brother’s eyes- he wanted to say words of comfort, wanted to wipe that look off his face, but his body wouldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything.  _

_ “What is this?” Butsuma barked. _

_ “I… don’t know,” Hashirama whispered. He lowered his head slowly, eyes peering dark and unsteady at his trembling hands. _

_ “Well…” Their father started slowly, a scowl gradually morphing into a smirk, “it’s  _ useful.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Tobirama!” Hashirama’s voice sounded from behind him. Tobirama turned around to find Hashirama running excitedly towards him, unbothered by the bruises littering his limbs. He smiled happily. “Look what I can do!” Carefully, he extended his hands, cradling one in the other, and slowly opened his palm, revealing a tiny sprout that shuddered and unfurled. Delicately, it wormed its way up toward the sun, and a bud pushed its way up, opening to reveal a dainty flower with vibrant petals of red streaked with black. Hashirama looked hopefully at him, obviously giddy, but trying not to show it. _

_ Tobirama let his face soften and smiled, running a finger down one of the flower’s soft petals. “It’s nice, Anija,” He said gently. Then, he was reminded of Hashirama’s state, and he frowned, eyes drifting past his innumerous injuries. “...but are you okay?” _

_ Hashirama looked up curiously from his dainty creation. “What? Oh, yeah!” He grinned. “I’m fine! Father’s been helping me get stronger!” At that, he seemed to grow even happier, and his eyes crinkled up jubilantly. “I can be stronger!...” _

_ “Hashirama!” Butsuma called distantly. _

_ He popped up. “Oh, I’ve got to go!” He quickly stuffed the blossom into Tobirama’s hand and stumbled off, waving a hand that Tobirama only half reciprocated. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Slowly, they grew. Years passed with bloodshed. They clashed with the Uchiha nearly every week now, and every time, Madara was seeking out Hashirama on the battlefield- or vice-versa. In the spare times he could observe his brother, as Izuna had also taken to targeting him when they fought, he saw that they always seemed to be at a stalemate- not because they were of equal power, but because Hashirama still seemed to retain his reluctance to hurt his friend, and perhaps Madara did too- just a little. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Eventually, Butsuma fell, and it came time to elect a new clan head. His funeral was quiet and calm. No tears were shed in that burial. _

_ Unanimously, Hashirama was voted head. He wore the title with a solemn pride, and he later told Tobirama with a sad smile that he could finally create the peace they’d always wanted. _

_ He tried to hope, but Tobirama wasn’t sure if it was possible anymore. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Almost everyday after that, despite his protests, Hashirama wrote requests for ceasefire, sending letter after letter to the Uchiha encampments, or even pleading mid-battle for his Uchiha enemy to listen. When Tobirama thought about it, Madara seemed, everytime, to crack a little bit more. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ That all changed on that day. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ They stood alone on the battlefield, the ground strewn with bloody, crumpled bodies. A bit away, Hashirama and Madara clashed. Tobirama glared at Izuna. Both their chests shook with exertion. It had been a long battle. _

_ Finally, with a great effort, Izuna raced at him, and Tobirama automatically countered, raising his sword to deflect the blow. To his surprise, Izuna pushed his face into Tobirama’s, his eyes suddenly blazing with a swirling, red Sharingan. Tobirama flinched, and Izuna took that split-second opportunity to knee him in the abdomen and punch him across the face, blowing him solidly into a jarring boulder. Tobirama winced at the impact, feeling his back flare in protest, but there was no time to recover, for Izuna immediately sent an enormous fireball flying his way. Hands flying, he countered the fire with a great, towering water dragon, the two colliding in a burst of steam. With no time to waste, he grabbed a handful of kunai, fingering the one that would decide his fate, and leaped headfirst into the blinding plume. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a burst of chakra, sensing Izuna directly in front of him, and immediately sent the kunai flying in a deadly array. _

_ He was no fool- Izuna could very well see the kunai where Tobirama couldn’t. He couldn’t, however, protect himself from what would happen… _

_ Now.  _

_ He instantaneously teleported behind the kunai, perfectly positioned next to a vulnerable Izuna.  _

_ At that moment, there was a choice to be made. For a second, he almost remembered Hashirama’s fervent words of peace- too bad the adrenaline of battle was flowing through his veins. _

_ He aimed a deadly slice at Izuna’s abdomen. _

_ Skidding to a stop, Tobirama’s chest heaved painfully before he turned around to see his adversary cough up a mouthful of blood. _

_ In the other battle, Madara took notice, leaping away from his flame-filled fight to catch a falling Izuna in his arms. “Izuna!” He hissed, carefully draping him over his shoulder. Panic filled his tired face as Izuna’s sword dropped from his loose fingers, his brother’s blood pooling speedily on the ground.  _ “Shit-  _ Don’t- don’t worry, I’ll save you.” _

_ Mutely, Hashirama landed before Madara, raising his sword to slowly point it at him. His face was a mask of indifference. _

_ Tobirama clenched his fists.  _

_ “Hashirama…” Madara muttered, his eyes darting back and forth. Measuredly, he took a step back. _

_ “Madara,” Hashirama said solemnly, “I am stronger than you.” _

_ The man pursed his lips, acknowledging the fact. _

_ Hashirama paused, eyes narrowing, before lifting his sword- _

_ And slamming it into the rock ground.  _

_ Tobirama gasped quietly. Hashirama was completely exposing himself- what was he doing? _

_ His brother spoke slowly, placatingly. “If the two strongest clans, the Senju and the Uchiha, join forces, nations won’t be able to find other clans that can stand against us. The conflict will start to die down…” He walked closer, hand extended carefully like he was taming a wild animal. “Please…”  _

_ Madara stared at him quietly, then turned to look at Izuna, lying still on his shoulder. His clothing was soaked through with blood, and his breathing was ragged. The man looked broken. _

_ Tobirama held his breath, a heavy anticipation building up in him and incredulous thoughts running around in his head as he watched Madara slowly, achingly, take a step forward- _

  
  
  


_ “No, Nii-San!” _

_ Madara jumped in surprise, stuttering, “I-Izuna!” _

_ “Don’t be deceived by them, Madara!” Izuna half-growled, half-choked, “Don’t you remember these bastards killed everyone? Killed the Uchiha?” _

_ Even in that state, Izuna still felt such a broiling hatred toward them. _

_ Madara fell silent. He drew back, turning from the now coughing Izuna to look at Hashirama, whose hand dropped infinitesimally in defeat. Seeming to make up his mind, he grabbed a smoke bomb from his pack and, before they could do anything more than twitch, set it off, creating a huge plume of smoke. By the time it cleared, there was no sign of either Madara or his brother. _

_ Hashirama’s hand dropped limply by his side, and his eyes drifted down to the ground in disappointment. _

_ Tobirama grit his teeth. _

_ He remembered sitting in that forest, how he’d said to his two brothers that to make peace, they needed to make a pact between clans. How had he lost sight of that goal? They were adults now, and everyone was still  _ just  _ as idiotic. Hashirama was the only one still desperately clinging to that dream. Tobirama wished he could do better. _

  
  


_ As the last vestiges of smoke faded from the air, figures started to appear, their arms all raised in defeat. One Uchiha after another, kunai dropped and scattered on the ground, crept out from their positions on the battlefield, faces all sad and tired. _

_ It felt profound. It felt monumental. It felt horrible. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ The two clans approached each other. In the horizon, the setting sun cast their faces in shadow. A dash of orange, a splash of darkness. Madara stood at the front of the pack, his eyes already red and glowing- glowing with something new- something  _ deadly. 

_ “Those eyes…” Hashirama whispered. _

_ A sickening dread crawled into Tobirama’s gut, a painful mixture. “What happened to Izuna?” He asked quietly. _

_ Madara didn’t react at all. It was like he was a statue- like he’d turned into stone. Only his eyes continued to burn. “My little brother ended up dying from that day’s wounds,” He growled coolly. “He left me with powers to help me  _ protect the Uchiha!”

_ “I sent you a ceasefire agreement!” Hashirama responded, voice raising in volume, “If you truly want to protect them, let’s stop fighting!” _

_ The only response he got was a burst of chakra, a bright blue aura that grew and surrounded Madara, forming sharp features and two great, glowering faces.  _ “Hashirama!” 

_ Sighing slightly, Hashirama drew his hands together in a series of rapid hand signs, shouting, “Wood Style, Deep Forest Bloom!” At this, Tobirama nodded hurriedly to the rest of his clan members, and they all drew far back from the scene, only hindrances in the face of such immense power.  _

_ Great, towering tendrils of wood sprouted from the ground, the last thing Tobirama saw before he ducked behind a boulder jutting out of the landscape. Above him, he could see buds sprouting at the tops of gargantuan plants, reminding him strangely of that first time Hashirama had shown him his Mokuton. _

_ “Enough, Madara!” He heard Hashirama yell, “Fighting is meaningless?” _

_ “Meaningless?” Madara’s murmur carried shakily through the dusk air. “Then why did Izuna die?” His voice suddenly crescendoed, shivering with pain. “It’s because you bastards  _ KILLED HIM!” __

_ He let out another burst of chakra, blowing both Uchiha and Senju away and disfiguring the landscape around them. His anger only burgeoned his Susanoo- it grew ever larger, layers upon layers of complex armor stacking upon each other in glowing blue and two huge wings sprouting out its back. The power it emanated made Tobirama feel sick to his stomach. _

_ When the wind finally faded, he ducked out from behind his rock, only to find a tengu-like figure with red pinpricks as eyes, the top of its jagged head scraping the sunset sky. Sprinting back even further, he felt the ground rumble as Hashirama shouted, “Wood Golem Jutsu!” _

_ The gigantic creation sprouted out of the ground, wood snapping and spiraling in intricate patterns to form the towering figure. The wind blew in wild gusts, and the ground split and cracked under the enormous pressure.  _

_ “Hashirama!” Madara screamed. _

_ Hashirama’s face cracked and collapsed. “Madara!” _

_ Their two creations swept towards each other across the painted sky and collided with a heart stopping  _ boom,  _ the aftershock ripping through layers and layers of entangled wooden forest. _

_ After that, there was an eternity. It was like the end of the world. It was a feat in and of itself to even survive the battle of two titans- such was the fight that ensued. Tobirama came out of it fatigued and dirtied. _

_ Eventually, Madara’s Susanoo collapsed, as did Hashirama’s golem. They caught each other on the ground, weapons singing metallically through the dusty air. Hashirama was strong, but Madara with those strange eyes was a terrible creature, and they fought continuously, not bothering to stop or see anything beyond the sword at their temple, the gunbai at their shin. Emboldened, the Uchiha and the Senju did battle. _

_ The Uchiha were quickly crushed. It was truly such a one-sided battle.  _

_ Yet, even with his eyes, Madara was never a match for his brother.  _

_ His movements grew slower and slower. Hashirama’s attacks caught him more and more. Finally, with a knock of his sword’s hilt, Madara stumbled. His legs trembled. He tried to catch Hashirama with his gunbai one last time, but he finally collapsed, and as soon as his back hit the floor, all the life seemed to drain out of him. His spirit blew away on the breeze.  _

_ Tobirama walked up to him slowly and lifted his sword above his chest. The Uchiha were gone. It was finally over. “Madara,” he said solemnly, “You’re finished.” He had never seen a man as broken as this. Death was a mercy. But just as he moved to deliver the fatal blow, to put an end to it all, Hashirama spoke up, and he automatically stopped, too responsive to his brother’s orders.  _

_ “Wait. Tobirama.” _

_ He turned, brow crinkling in confusion, and he felt a burst of anger rise to his head. “Why, Anija?” He demanded, “This is finally our chance!” Wasn’t this an opportunity for peace? Was this not what he wanted? _

_ Then, his brother gave him a look so teeming with power and intensity, Tobirama involuntarily took a step back.  _ “No one touches him.” 

_ All the anger in Tobirama’s body was replaced with apprehension.  _

_ Madara coughed. “Just get it over with, Hashirama….” his voice was tinged with the pain of a man accepting of his end. “It would be an honor… to die by your hand.” _

_ “Stop posturing, Madara. If I were to kill you, it would only incite the young ones that follow you.” _

_ “There isn’t anyone with such pluck left in the Uchiha anymore.” _

_ “Of course there are! Maybe not now, but in time… Come on, Madara,” Hashirama returned back to that pleading tone. “Can’t we just end this war? We made a promise, remember? That we would build the ideal village together.” _

A village, huh?  _ Tobirama thought distantly,  _ After all this, he still… 

_ Madara shook his head. His voice was weak with reminiscence. “We are not the same as we were before. I have not a single brother left. I have no one- no one left to protect. And I…” He closed his eyes momentarily, perhaps thinking back to what Izuna said to him. “...I simply cannot trust you.” _

_ “What can I do for you to trust me, Madara?” Hashirama implored.  _

_ Madara paused in thought.  _

_ Then, his eyes drifting between the both of them, he quietly answered, “Well, there is a way to show each other our guts…” he grinned mirthfully. “Either kill your brother… or yourself. And then we’ll be even. I’ll be willing to trust you clan.  _

_ A second passed, where everyone digested what he said. Then- _

_ “KILL HIS BROTHER OR HIMSELF? A Senju burst out, “WHAT KIND OF-” _

_ He was silenced with a lift of Hashirama’s hand, but Tobirama piped up as well. “Anija,” He looked at Hashirama. “I agree. What will you do, then? Will you kill me, or will you listen to the ravings of this-  _ lunatic-  _ and kill yourself?” He frowned. Madara had given Hashirama an impossible choice. Tobirama knew it highly unlikely for Hashirama to kill him- he was his only remaining sibling. And to kill himself was simply preposterous. Madara was simply guiding Hashirama back to the simple solution: ending his life. Tobirama scoffed. “It’s idiotic. Don’t listen to him.” _

_ “Thank you, Madara.” Seemingly not having heard him, Hashirama stood up, a joyous look of relief spreading over his face. He pulled a hand up to the secret latch in his armor, and it tumbled onto the ground with a tinny  _ clank,  _ the sound uncomfortable in Tobirama’s ears. There was a smile on his face- it’d been so long since he smiled. “You really are kind-hearted.” _

_ He pulled out a kunai. _

_ Tobirama could only look on in surprise as the moment passed- part of him, perhaps, firmly believed that he wouldn’t do it, that it was an act, that Hashirama was just gesturing to gain Madara’s trust. That must have been what the rest of them were thinking too, because none of them moved when Hashirama positioned the kunai to his abdomen, or when he made them swear that no one would hurt Madara after his death, or even when he gave them a tiny, sad smile and said, “Farewell.” Only when he shed that tear, did Tobirama truly acknowledge his intention, and by then it was too late. _

_ No one moved. No one but Madara. _

  
  
  


_ A hand Hashirama’s kunai, holding it firm. “Enough,” Madara muttered with his bloodstained lips, his hooded eyes glistening strangely. “I have now seen your guts.” _

_ Slowly, he let go of Hashirama’s hand, and the kunai slipped out gently and clattered to their feet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you enjoyed！


	4. Chapter 4

_ Everything went by like a blur- days passed in a brighter color than they ever had before, the Uchiha and the Senju slowly coming together to join hands and lay their weapons aside. In the blink of an eye, the two clans were gathered- the first time Tobirama had seen all of his clansmen without armor for as long as he could remember. _

_ The mood was sentimental, genial, and as Hashirama read their treaty out loud to thunderous applause, Tobirama almost felt glad. _

_ Slowly but surely, Hashirama raised buildings from the ground. Foundations gradually formed walls and roofs. They could finally rest, lower their war-hardened hands, and let the years of violence fall away with their tattered armor. In fact, lure of unity and protection began to attract more people- not just shinobi, but families, merchants, people simply seeking a place to thrive. The village grew, expanding and connecting, and soon, before their very eyes, there blossomed a beautiful village, one filled with the laughter of children and the ringing of spring bells. One that Tobirama could look at and be happy for.  _

_ His brother smiled everyday, then, walking amongst the streets bustling with people. He thrived upon that happiness, the pleasant, almost unbelievable perfection of it all, a sunflower that bloomed on contentment and peace. And who did he smile with more than Madara? (And really, vice-versa.) The two seemed transformed from their warring days, almost inseparable as they surveyed the sanctuary of their own creation. In an almost irksome manner, they would crawl away to the top of the mountain and do whatever they did there, talking and reminiscing about their childhood. Tobirama had always disapproved. He’d never really let go of his suspicion, to be honest, and he also felt the contempt radiating from Madara whenever he stepped into his vicinity. Who could blame him? Tobirama was already an unapproachable character, and how could you ever forgive the man who killed your brother? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “The leader of the shinobi who protects the Land of Fire from the shadows,” Hashirama murmured one day, out of the blue. _

_ “Hm?” Tobirama hummed, disturbed from his own musing. _

_ “The Hokage,” he continued softly, his voice a quiet daze, “I think Madara would make a great Hokage,” His gaze was unfocused and his expression loose and clumsy. “We could carve his face on that cliff, so that he lives on forever to watch over our village. Konohagakure…” _

_ “Madara? Hokage?” Tobirama snapped incredulously, very much attentive now. “You can’t just elect him as Hokage- a candidate, sure, but things are different from father’s era, Hashirama, it’s not up to you anymore!” He looked at his brother, a severe eyebrow raised. “The choice will eventually be up to the top officials,  _ after  _ consulting the village  _ and  _ the Land of Fire! Besides…” he dragged, voice taking on a darker tone, “Uchiha Madara would never be elected as Hokage,” He shifted in his seat on the table, trying to figure out a way to put this to his brother without making him burst out yelling at him. “...We all know you’re the one who founded this settlement, Anija, even the Uchiha say as such.” _

_ Hashirama tilted his head, trying to interrupt. “That’s not-” _

_ “And you’ve heard of the rumors, haven’t you?” Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. His brother needed to acknowledge this. “The Uchiha are a clan of hatred. The greater their hate, the stronger their visual prowess. They’re unpredictable. Dangerous, even. For the future of the village to rest on the shoulders of one of them-” _

_ Having seemingly reached his limit, Hashirama stood up, giving him a dangerous glare. “Stop talking like that, Tobirama!”  _

_ He opened his mouth to continue, but he suddenly stopped, paused, his expression mellowing out, and he carefully walked to the window. His face crinkled. “I just felt someone’s presence. You would know.” _

_ Tobirama sighed, pressing his lips together. “No, I’m not kneading chakra right now. Don’t change the subject, Anija.” _

_ Hashirama shook his head. “No, really!” He leaned out the window and picked something up, lifting it to his eyes. His brow seemed to twist in slight confusion. _

_ “Anyway,” Tobirama said coolly, crossing his arms, “This system will be run democratically. Any objections?” _

_ “No…” Hashirama said slowly, “...it’s fine.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ He stepped in quietly into his brother’s office, tentatively revealing his presence. “Anija.” _

_ Hashirama didn’t move, cradling his eyes with a clawing hand. “He’s gone, Tobirama, he’s gone,” he whispered, cracked cried,  _ lamented,  _ voice aching and stretching like the mochi in the store on the east side of the village, “I can’t believe he… after all this time…” _

_ “Hashirama…” He walked closer to him, extending a hand, and he carefully placed it on his brother’s shoulder, “...perhaps… it’s for the best.” _

_ Hashirama’s head turned with a flash, his hair rippling with the force as he looked disbelievingly into Tobirama’s eyes. “What?! What are you saying?” He gestured wildly, hands shaking and clenching. “We built this village  _ together,  _ Tobirama, everything we did was  _ together.  _ Without him, this village isn’t complete, I-  _ I’m  _ not complete!” His eyes squeezed shut as he clenched the edge of the table.  _ “I can’t do this.”

_ Tobirama said nothing, silently patting Hashirama on the back as his breathing rattled, an attempt to soothe his brother’s frayed nerves. He would understand in time. _

_ He had to. _

  
  
  
  


_ But Hashirama wouldn’t recover. _

_ When he walked among the streets, he didn’t smile, didn’t glow the way he had before Madara left.  _

_ He was still cheery, sure. Anyone else couldn’t have seen the difference. But sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he would sneak a glance at the empty space next to him, and his fingers would twitch, as if clawing at the place where someone once was.  _

_ If he was a sunflower, then perhaps Madara was the soil that helped him flourish.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Hokage-sama!” A harried village patrol shinobi sprinted into the room, features stretched in panic. “Madara- he’s approaching the village boundaries!” _

_ Hashirama whipped around, his face a shining beacon of foolish hope. “He’s come back?” _

_ The shinobi stumbled over his words and bit his lip in dismay. “He’s- he’s attacking the village, sir.” _

_ Hashirama’s ecstatic grin quickly turned into a frown. “Oh.” He looked down, hands coming onto the desk to rise and fall like jagged tree branches.  _

_ There was a long silence, stretching deep and spider web sticky.  _

_ Tobirama waited for a while and bit his lip. Then, crossing his arms and fixing Hashirama with a dead-on stare, he said, “Well, Anija?” _

_ Hashirama fumbled with his fingers, eyes dodging anywhere but Tobirama’s. “But…” _

_ “These are the consequences, Anija,” Tobirama said icily. “This is your duty. Go.” _

_ Hashirama stopped protesting, looking down quietly at his feet. His sheen of dark hair slid down his shoulders, draped around his shadowed face as his breathing slowed, as hands fixed themselves upon knees and didn’t let go. He stayed there, for a time. _

_ Then, finally, he stood up from his seat. His expression was hardened, jagged and angled as he walked away from the desk and began his way out of the room. _

_ His blank face pulled at something in Tobirama’s heart, something small and scared. “Wait,” he said, a silent cry ringing between sounds. _

_ Hashirama turned around. For a second, his facade almost fell. His eyes flickered, almost gave a forlorn look- but then they slipped away, and they returned to those cold, brown pebbles. _

_ Tobirama let out a heavy breath. “Good luck,” he whispered. _

_ Hashirama nodded and left without another word. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ He’d carried Madara’s body back in the pouring rain. _

_ So many people had gathered to watch their former benefactor be dragged back in Hashirama’s bloodied arms. They looked glad. They whispered their rumors amongst themselves as Hashirama marched back with his face in shadow. A few cheered, actually, but Hashirama could barely even spare them the presence of mind to give them a half-hearted smile.  _

_ Almost aimlessly, he traipsed through the pattering rain, until he finally came before Tobirama.  _

_ “I killed him,” Hashirama told him, face frozen and unfeeling. _

_ Tobirama looked at him, at his solemn expression. “Are you… okay?” _

_ His brother didn’t answer. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Tobirama walked to the doorway of the Hokage office, peering inside. Standing quietly next to the window was Hashirama, silent and still, peering out over Konohagakure. His eyes were dull, lines dark and clear under them- was he getting enough sleep? Perhaps he was in one of his moods, but this felt different- this felt real. _

_ “Hashirama.” _

_ The man whipped around jarringly, his lips suddenly curved in a bright smile. “Oh, Tobirama!” He called out, sweeping his arms behind his back and fidgeting on his feet, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something!” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “I want to…” Hashirama paused, swallowing. “I want to propose a marriage to the Uzumaki clan. In order to maintain peace in my village, I have to… continue my lineage.” _

_ Tobirama smiled slightly at the good news, and he raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was one of his moods, after all. “Oh? I’ve heard Uzumaki Mito is a pleasant woman and an excellent kunoichi.” _

_ “Yes,” Hashirama agreed, his eyes steadily wandering back to the window, “Yes, yes… she is.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ More and more, Hashirama seemed to lose his passion. Usually, it was difficult to tell. After all, few things happen in one burst. Most of the time, Hashirama seemed himself, or Tobirama was too swamped to notice. But sometimes, he would get the sense that their days were simply too monotonous. No variation, no spontaneity. Hashirama would do paperwork with him in the mornings. Perhaps they’d go get some lunch. A meeting with the village representatives, if they were lucky. Paperwork otherwise.  _

_ Sometimes he felt like there was something crucial missing in Hashirama, in this routine, in this life, but it was always just a fleeting thought, like a single drop of water landing in an embroiled ocean.  _

_ His brother hated paperwork. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Looking back is such a strange thing. 

Why recall something if it makes you regret? You can’t change the past. You can’t change anything. There’s nothing you can do, and you can’t go back and fix some crucial thing when all your mistakes culminate and explode in a tragedy.

So why is he thinking about these memories now?

Now, as he steps over these tangled, tangled tendrils in the stirringly quiet battle field, a sense of dread building in his gut.

Now, as he looks at all the bodies surrounding him, some familiar, some with silver leaves eternalized upon their foreheads. 

Now, when he finally reaches bloodied brown hair, and his knees give away, bending to the scarlet ground as he feels something in his chest shatter but his eyes refuse to reciprocate because  _ wasn’t this always coming? _

Hashirama lies still, still and dead on the red-brown soil, a kunai driven deep within his gut. His armor lies in a tangled pile next to him, and held in his limp hand is a small, wilting, red and black flower. 


End file.
